To live, to die, to dream
by UnderlandsCreator
Summary: Harry's dreams most nights, weren't the type that he imagined everyone else had. Because when he dreamed, he died (he woke up) and sometimes it showed, and sometimes it didn't. (He wasn't sure what was real anymore)
1. Chapter 1

Harry's dreams most nights, weren't the type that he imagined everyone else had.

Because when he dreamed, he died _(he_ _woke up)_ and sometimes it showed, and sometimes it didn't.

 _(He_ _wasn't_ _sure what was real anymore)_

Sometimes, like when he drowned, or was electrocuted, he would simply wake up feeling the effects.

 _water filling his mouth, and he_ _couldn't_ _breath, no matter how hard he tried. Sparks jumping between his fingers, his heart feeling like it was a second away from_ _jumping_ _out of his chest, or simply stopping. He_ _could_ _say which one he wanted to happen more._

But for other things, like the beheading, or being stabbed in the heart, left a mark.

A perfect circle around his neck. A faded line on his chest.

He traced them sometimes, to remind himself that he was awake, that he was _alive. (It didn't help.)_

His body was riddled with the after effects of his dreams, but he could never really bring himself to care.

Maybe his dreams did something to him besides the obvious. Maybe they broke something, or changed something inside of him, because no matter what happened to him, he never felt anything.

 _(He was numb. Always, numb. His_ _emotions_ _blinking_ _out like the_ _stars_ _in the sky, being swallowed up by the night, or a candle flame being snuffed out. Even the pain eventually faded away, from a dull ache, to almost nothing.)_

Half the time ( _most of the time, almost all of the_ _time_ _if he_ _wanted_ _to be honest)_ he didn't know if he was awake or dreaming.

If he was alive, or dead. Because if dreaming _brought death, and death brought waking, brought_ _life_ , how could he tell if he was ever one or the other? He couldn't, so he stopped trying.

* * *

Sometimes, he would look at the people around him, and wonder, as they lit up all different colors.

He would look at the smile on Dudley's face, the sunshine yellow outlining his body, and wonder what it meant to be happy.

He would stare blankly up at Vernon when he would yell at him, his body burning fire red, and wonder what it meant to be angry.

Vernon liked to call him a "monster" when he looked. Said that with cold, dead eyes like his, he couldn't be anything besides the Devils child, something other. Not human.

He would say this, and though his face would be twisted up in an angry snarl, his body would glow a sickly green.

( _And Harry wondered what it felt like, to be afraid.)_

But all Harry would take away from these rather frequent rants from Vernon, was a question.

What did it mean to be human, it that was something that it was decided he wasn't?

Harry didn't have to be able to feel things to notice the distinct difference between how Dudley and he were treated. To notice how the other children at their school treated him, and even the neighborhood bullies.

All "normal". All "human".

So Harry came to the conclusion that if being human meant acting like them, then he was fine being a monster.

 _Something definitive that he could_ _label_ _himself, something concrete to_ _ground_ _him, when he was caught between being one thing or another._

He was _deadalivedeadalivedeadalive._

No

He was _awakedreamingawakedreaming._

No

He was Harry, and he was a monster.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry wasn't with the Dursleys very long, at least he didn't think he was, before the day came that they took him to an orphanage, and left him there.

He thinks this might have happened because they don't like living with a monster. Or maybe it was his eyes. They never seemed to like them much either.

Well, either way, he was dropped off at an orphanage, and in short order, put in a corner room on the fourth floor, one with a window that overlooked the small yard surrounded by dead trees.

The woman who led him to his room asked him his name, and he told her "Harry". When she asked for his last, he had nothing to say, because he didn't know, and her weary blue, soon changed to confused white.

She asked how old he was next, when his birthday was, and again, he couldn't answer her, because he didn't know. Or maybe he simply didn't have one? The Dursleys always celebrated their birthdays, but never once had he encountered a day set aside just for him.

Maybe monsters didn't have birthdays, and only humans did.

 _That must be the case,_ Harry decided, and since he was a monster without a birthday, that meant that he also didn't have an age, so even if he wanted to tell the woman how old he was, he realized that he couldn't, because he wasn't any age at all.

The woman turned darker purple at his silence, and when she turned to look at him, her eyes stopped on his neck, and she quickly turned orange, her eyes growing wide.

Harry thought that orange must be the color of shock.

The woman left quickly after that, closing the bedroom door behind her, and Harry settled down on his first real bed, in his first real room, and turned to face the window.

He wasn't with the Dursleys anymore, but nothing had really changed.

The sky was still blue, the clouds were still white, and Harry wondered whether or not he would die _(wake up)_ tonight.

Maybe he would feel more real if he stopped sleeping.

He stared at his reflection in the window, and pitch black eyes stared back. He reached out to touch the cool glass of the window, and his reflection did the same, until it almost looked like he was palm to palm with another him.

He wondered which of them was real.

He wondered if he was dreaming.

He wondered.


	3. Chapter 3

There was an angel in the yard.

At least, that's what Harry assumed it was, even though it looked nothing like the statues and painting of them that he had seen the one and only time the Dursleys had dragged him to a church.

But the person in the yard had wings, and the only people that Harry had known to have wings were angels, so it was angel, even though it's wings were black.

Harry leaned his head further out the window to get a better look, and saw that not only the angel's wings were black, but the entire angel as well.

It was like the shadow of an angel come to life.

The angel didn't really have a face, instead having what looked like a dozen golden eyes placed randomly on the dark surface of its head, where the face should be.

But regardless of how it looked, Harry could still see how it was feeling as clear as he could anyone else, and as he looked down at the angel, he saw that it was a soft, sad blue.

There was a sad angel in the yard, a shadow angel with a face made up of a dozen burning gold eyes, and Harry went down to meet it.

Harry passed a few of the other children as he made his way down the stairs, but they didn't give him more than a passing glance before returning to what they were doing.

It was a few minutes after he left his room that he was pushing the front door open to get outside, the wind rustling his hair as he stood on the front steps.

The angel was over to the left, sitting next to the trees on the other side of the building, so that's where he went.

It didn't look down as he approached it, the angel didn't move at all, staying in the position that he had first seen it in from his room, it's head tilted up to the sky, and it's arms wrapped around its legs, though considering the angel was the same deep black everywhere, it really just looked like a large black mass, with wings coming out the back of it, and a head with its many golden eyes.

"Hello." Harry said, stopping in front of the angel, and at that, it finally did look down, all its eyes fixed on Harry.

The angel didn't have a mouth, but after Harry said hello, he suddenly heard a voice in his head that said hello back.

 _Well, it_ _doesn't_ _have a mouth, so it makes sense that this is how it can talk to me. And it is an angel, so_ _it's_ _not like it needs to talk like everyone else, anyway._ Harry thought as he went to take a seat next to the angel.

The tree the angel was sitting next to was the biggest one in the yard, it's dark, bare branches reaching up like fingers trying trying to touch the sky.

"Angel, what are you doing here? And why are you sad?"

 _I am watching._

 _"_ What are you watching? Is that what's making you sad?"

 _I am watching you._

 _I am sad, because the trees are sad._

Harry looked back at the trees, which didn't look sad to him, but he was a monster, not an angel, so just must not be able to tell, and then back to the angel, that was, as it said, watching him.

"Why are you watching me? Were you looking at me earlier, too?"

 _I am meant to watch you, to be close if help is needed._

"Oh, well, thank you." Harry said, and the angel continued to watch him.

He didn't see any other angels around, so that probably meant that only monsters got angels.

Though he did think it was odd that he had never seen the angel before, or maybe not, considering the Dursleys hadn't ever wanted him to be seen outdoors. Because of that, besides the short time he had spent in school before the Dursleys pulled him out, he was always confined to the cupboard under the stairs.

The angel was still glowing a soft, sad blue, and Harry looked back at the trees, before cupping his hands together, and closing his eyes, concentrating hard for a long moment.

When he opened his eyes and looked down to his hands, there was a sunshine yellow rose, where before there had been nothing.

Harry looked over to the angel to see that it was still watching him, and offered it the flower.

It looked at the flower for a few seconds, before straightening up a bit, and reaching forward with one long, claw tipped hand, and taking it gently from him.

And then the angel smiled.

A line opened up beneath its eyes, where a mouth would be, that stretched from one side of its face, to the other, and when it smiled, rows and rows of sharp white teeth were revealed.

Harry would have offered a smile in return, but he felt that since he lacked the feeling that went with smiling, since he couldn't feel happy, that it wouldn't count, so he just turned back around, and looked up at the sky.

"You're happy now, do you like it?"

 _I do._

After the angel spoke, Harry heard movement coming from in front of him, and looked to see that a little girl was approaching him.

She stopped about a foot away from him, and tilted her head to the side, her light brown hair shifting with the movement.

"Who were you talking to?" She asked in a small, high voice.

"An angel." Harry answered, and the little girl frowned a little, before looking around him.

"But there's no one shouldn't tell lies, said that only bad girls and boys lie.

Who were you talking to?" The girl asked again, her soft whitish orange starting to become tinged with red.

"An angel." Harry repeated, but when he looked to the side to where the angel had been sitting, he saw that it, and the rose, were gone, as if they had never been there.

"I told you that it's bad to lie. You're a bad boy, and I'm not supposed to talk to bad boys. If you lie again, I'm going to tell ." The girl said, but Harry ignored her, focusing instead on the empty spot next to him.

He had been talking to the angel, hadn't he?

Or did he just imagine it? He was awake now, wasn't he?

Harry stared at the tree reaching for the sky, and saw that the angel was sitting on one of the branches, still watching him.

"What are you looking at? There's nothing there." The girl said, looking in the same direction he was.

The angel shifted it's gaze to look at the girl, but she still didn't react.

"You're strange, I'm leaving." The girl said before turning around, and walking away.

Harry watched her for a second, before turning back to the angel that was suddenly next to him again.

"She couldn't see you."

 _I_ _can_ _only_ _be_ _seen by_ _those_ _in between,_ was all the angel said in response.

Harry nodded his head to himself, and turned back to look at the sky.

He supposed that did make sense.


End file.
